


The Crimson Pool

by Lulu_The_Real_Slytherpuff



Category: Andi Mack (TV)
Genre: Aftermath of a Murder, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Death, I'm Sorry, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, TJ and Cyrus do not know each other, this is what happens when I listen to sad music
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-06
Updated: 2019-02-06
Packaged: 2019-10-23 07:55:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17679458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lulu_The_Real_Slytherpuff/pseuds/Lulu_The_Real_Slytherpuff
Summary: His breath hitched as he looked down at the crimson pooling around his stomach. He was numb. Pain was irrelevant. A fallacy. Impossible. And yet the white grew stronger, more pronounced around the edges of his vision.





	The Crimson Pool

**Author's Note:**

> This was written in the space of ten minutes while listening to sad music. It is by no means brilliantly written and is merely a 500-word short story written in response to the music listened to at the time of the write. 
> 
> WARNINGS:  
> \- referenced character death/s  
> \- implied suicide  
> \- implied homophobia
> 
> This is not a happy story. If you are reading this and expecting it to be happy, you will be disappointed. 
> 
>  
> 
> That being said, I hope you enjoy.

His hands shook with the weight of the knife. His breath hitched as he looked down at the crimson pooling around his stomach. He was numb. Pain was irrelevant. A fallacy. Impossible. And yet the white grew stronger, more pronounced around the edges of his vision. 

 

A muffled voice broke through his thoughts but he couldn’t move his head to find the source of the voice. His body was numb and the voice seemed to be shouting a name. His name maybe? He couldn’t be sure. Nothing came to mind, his name seemed to be lost to the echoes of the wind. 

 

The whiteness spread, and soon the crimson was engulfed in a bright white light. Was this death? It had to be. 

 

The voice broke through one more. Open your eyes, it said. Stay awake, it said. The voice was desperate, that he could be sure of. And the distorted crack that had entered the voice - the angel’s voice, he presumed, forced him to open his eyes. His vision was blurred but the crimson was unmistakable. As was the silver protruding out of it. 

 

Listen to me, the angel said. You’re going to be okay. 

 

Red.

Blue.

White.

 

Flashes of colour took ahold of his dark, distorted view of the world. And then, the angel screamed, don’t let him die. And trying his best to lift his head, he looked to the retreating form of the angel and hoped he had enough energy left to send a smile the angel’s way. 

 

I’m not going anywhere. 

 

Black figures took over and suddenly he was lying down and being shuffled about. The crimson and silver disappeared from his view and the white took over once more. 

  
  


_ A shadow of cold _

_ Crimson ribbons flowing _

_ Death is a construct _

 

The worst thing about death is not the way the blood burned TJ’s throat as he sat in a dark alleyway outside Leister Square. It’s not the way the man in the yellow hat had pulled a silver butterfly knife from his jacket when he saw TJ’s pride pin on his collar, or the rainbow flag peeking out from the inside of his backpack. It’s not the way he’d screamed for help but was met with with a crowd of people playing a game of heads down, avoid eye contact. 

 

The worst thing about death was the dark-haired boy from the float who’d followed him off the bus to give him his phone back. It was in the way the dark-haired boy had run down the alleyway a second too late to find TJ spilling crimson on the ground and clutching wildly at the knife in his stomach. It’s in the way the boy had promised he would live and TJ had silently promised that he would. It’s in the way that as soon as the white had taken him from reality, all TJ was able to see was the dark-haired boy in the lobby of the hospital, phone in hand and his clothes stained red. Eyes wet from crying and the words, it’s all my fault on his lips. 

 

The worst thing about death, TJ decided, was the way he’d been forced to watch the dark-haired boy, Cyrus, he learned eventually, blame himself for TJ’s death. He watched as the light in Cyrus’ eyes dimmed and he blamed himself all the way to a cool bathtub and a bottle full of pills. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading everyone :)
> 
> Constructive critiscism is always welcome and greatly appreciated. 
> 
> As is every kudos and comment, so please say hi :)


End file.
